


In the Darkness

by Deannie



Series: In Your Head Bingo [1]
Category: The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Community: hc_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, it was nice to not hear Jake talking about <i>everything.</i> Carlos loved him, but <i>Dios mio</i>, could he talk. For HC_Bingo, prompt: sensory deprivation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Themed bingo: In Your Head. All stories must be written from single character perspective and the majority of the story must be that character with no real-time interaction with others (meaning flashbacks and imagined discussions are acceptable, but actual conversations are not).

At first, it was nice to not hear Jake talking about  _everything_.  Carlos loved him, but  _Dios mio_ ,  could he talk.

At first, waking up in the darkness, floating in a sea of calm, was pleasing. Relaxing. It had been a very long time since he’d slept without dreams of children falling from the skies, dying embers landing in a fertile jungle. He felt like a new nightmare should be there, too, but there was only blissful silence.

At first, he didn’t remember what had happened.

At first, it didn’t matter.

But he found, after a time, that he missed Jake’s voice. The endless _parloteo_  was soothing in its own strange way. He didn’t understand it—didn’t understand _them_ —but even when he wasn’t moaning in passion or yelling with the high of a firefight, Jake’s voice could center Carlos in the strangest ways. Like that half breath before taking a shot…

He should have shot that _hijo de puta_  Morrison the second he saw him—

—the name in his mind unleashed a torrent of memories suddenly, a jumbled mass of back then and just before now.

Jake’s voice, soft and playful. Nothing was ever wrong for Jensen when an operation began. He had a way of pushing out the anxiety and calming all of them with his narrations. “And here they are, gentlemen… Clay? Morrison and his buddy are headed your way. Coug? Their buzzard is flying up to the roof across from you.”

_ Clay’s quiet, smiling murmur as he handed a stuffed bear to a terrified little boy who thought he was home free now: “No. No, you keep your bear. You keep him safe.” _

A lightning strike seemed to cut through Carlos’s brain as a fireball bloomed in the skies of Bolivia while a firefight erupted in the disused streets of a failing neighborhood in Buenos Aires.

_ Madre de Dios... _

Jake had lost all cool, no longer playing the game as Morrison's men brought down more firepower than they'd been expecting. Carlos had simply started picking off targets, starting with the ones trying to take apart the car Clay was now hiding behind. “Jesus! All right—all right, I’m heading in. Clay? If you can hear me, I’m heading in. Coug, can you—“

Clay’s voice was tight, but sure. “Maintain position, Jensen. Pooch, I need you ready for extraction in two minutes. Cougar, see if you can sight their sniper—“

_ Carlos had followed the path of the helicopter with his eyes. For a second there, it was good to be a good guy. _

“Clay?” He could feel Jake dancing anxiously over the radio, begging for a chance to charge in, but unwilling to risk fucking up whatever _el jefe_  had in mind. Carlos swung his aim up, free eye scanning the roof across the street for a flash of metal.

In his ear, Jake cursed. “Okay, man, I’m moving into position to cover—“

“Damn it, Jensen!" Clay grated over the gunfire. "You sit your ass back—“

An explosion ripped through a helicopter, ripped through the radio transmission, ripped through Carlos’s shoulder and blew into his chest…

And then there was silence.

And darkness.

And Carlos wanted out.

 

But there was no out.

“Hello?”

No light.

“Jensen? _¿Me escuchas?_ ”

No sound.

“ _Mierda._  Where are you, man?”

He floated on now, not calm, not pleased… He wished for dreams of fire…

 

The pain had brought clarity in the end, and Carlos remembered staring into a cloudy sky, wondering when the rain was coming. It smelled like rain.

It smelled like blood.

It smelled like death. Not the burning bodies of innocent souls, no, but the gurgling end of a life lived on quick shots and quicker prayers.

“ _Dios_ ,” he whispered. “ _Dios mío_ …”

_ Bendita madre, cuida de sus pequeñas almas. _

“Cougar?” Pooch’s voice, the holes filled in with static. The gunfire was gone. “Coug, man, can you hear me? Where are you?”

“Jensen!” Clay, sharp, cold, both matter of fact and scared to death. “Jensen, what’s your status?”

Silence. So much silence.

“Fuck, man,” Pooch was tearful. That was his way, and Carlos was proud of him for it. “I got Jake. Northeast. Sniper’s down.”

_ You keep him safe. _

_ “I’ll get in position to cover…” _

Me, Carlos realized. To cover me. Oh, Jake… _idiota_.

“Where the hell is Cougar, then!? He’s supposed to be _here_!” Clay’s voice went loud and angry. “Cougar, report, God damn it!”

Carlos chuckled. He’d thought he was being so wise when Jake told him the sniper’s location. “ _Me mudé_ ,” he muttered, unsure if his mic would pick it up. Uncaring. “There is a roof above, to the side— _buen punto de observación_.”

And a good place to die, he supposed. It would rain soon, surely.

“A good vantage point…” Clay was searching. Carlos knew with a quiet certainty that he would be too late. He smiled through a spasm of pain in his chest as he heard running feet. He didn’t know if they were near or from the radio and it didn’t matter now, anyway.

“Shit! Cougar, I got you.” A hand grasped his arm suddenly and Carlos fought down a scream. “Pooch, grab Jake and get to ground—meet me at Florio’s and bring Dr. John!”

 

In the darkness, Carlos hoped that Dr. John, the crazy American surgeon who had moved to the barrios of Buenos Aires to help the lesser souls, had been able to save Jake. That there had been something to save.

He sighed, again not hearing the sound of it. Opened his eyes to find darkness. Gripped the world around him to find nothing in his hands. If this was Heaven, he’d been cheated. If this was Hell, it was less than he deserved.

He wished he knew about Jensen, though. About all of them. His _compañeros_. His _hermanos_.

He’d miss them in ways he wasn’t sure he could ever imagine and yet, appeared to have all the time in the world to discover.

_ Bendita madre, cuidar de sus almas…. _

 

“And the food is pretty good. Better than hospital food.”

He never stopped talking did he?

“Well, hospital food in the States, anyway. I wonder what they serve in the hospitals here? Is it like, shit burritos? One step down from Taco Bell?”

_Pendejo_.

“But anyway, you should probably wake up and taste it. Soon.”

There was a longing in Jake’s voice. He was off-center.

“So… Um—anyway, Clay’ll be back tomorrow. And Pooch just went to get… you know… Out.”

It smelled like burning garbage. And tortillas.

“Come on, man,” Jake whispered. A hand touched Carlos’s and the feel of it was enough to jolt his eyes open. Light flooded in, blinding him.

God, it felt good!

“Coug?” Jake’s voice was bright. Scared. It sounded wonderful. “Cougar? Man, you in there?”

Carlos blinked as many times as he could stand, but the vision of his partner was still blurry and wet. Or maybe Jake was crying. It made little difference to Carlos, who reveled in feeling and seeing and hearing.

He’d been too long in the dark and the silence.

“Come on, man,” Jake whispered, a tear falling shamelessly from his lashes. “Are you in there? Talk to me.” He smiled as Carlos did. “It's been a week. I’m getting tired of talking to myself here, buddy.”

“ _No deja de hablar, mi amigo_ ,” Carlos whispered, watching Jake’s face clear like a summer day. The hand holding his squeezed hard enough to bruise, and he knew the darkness he felt coming up on him would be gone in a little while and that hand would still be there.

“ _Nunca dejar de hablar_.”

* * * * * *  
The End


End file.
